


Quiet Currents

by theherocomplex



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/pseuds/theherocomplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They know what moves in the Drift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Currents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearwaldorf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/gifts).



Two weeks after what the world called Salvation Day, Mako opened the door of her apartment in Hong Kong, expecting to find Raleigh, but only found a pile of boxes. She choked down a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” said Raleigh, from somewhere beyond the boxes. “I went into my storage unit, got rid of all my old stuff. This is what’s left.” He stepped around the boxes and squeezed through her door. “I can put some of it back if you don’t have room.”

The boxes all had crumbling corners and layers of words scrawled over the sides. Before Mako could read what they said, the familiar blue-shadowed wash of memory slipped through her. She watched Raleigh’s hands like they were her own, sorting through layers of old clothes, old books, old toys. The memories disappeared seconds later, and she was alone in her head again.

Well. Not _quite_ alone.

“I’ve got room,” she said. Raleigh beamed, and brushed her bangs out of her eyes.

***

When she came down to breakfast the next morning, Raleigh had just put a plate of toast at her place -- the seat facing the window -- and was in the process of making coffee. Mako watched him, obscurely pleased as he moved around her kitchen, pulling out plates and mugs without needing to ask where anything was.

“Any cool dreams?” he asked, by way of nothing.

Mako smiled at her toast. A tiny jar of raspberry jam sat next to her plate, garnet-colored in the morning light. “Christmas, 2007,” she said, and Raleigh cringed.

“With the tree? Oh man, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She picked up a slice of toast and ate half of it in one bite. “It was funny. You and your brother...” She let the sentence hang unfinished. Raleigh shuffled over to his seat and jostled her elbow.

“It’s okay,” he said. “He’d be laughing too. It was all his idea anyways. Idiot.”

Raleigh had a way of turning the simplest words and purest emotions into a bonfire; even the way he said idiot was warmer than most I love yous. Mako leaned into his side and stole one of his sausages. He sighed, pushing his plate toward her.

***

What most people understood about the Drift would fill a thimble, at best. They thought every sensation floated on the surface, in a broad but shallow sea of memory.

The Drift wasn’t wide. It was _deep_.

Its top layers were warm, like the sun-struck water around a sandbar. There the brightest memories swarmed: drinking wine on a hill at sunset, a child’s first cry, the brief, almost painful flash of orgasm. Underneath came the slower, heavier memories, where the waters cooled and light got lost.

Most of the Drift was black and cold; vast shapes -- suggestions, really -- danced in the low currents.

_You can always find me in the Drift._

Two months after Raleigh moved in, she woke up freezing, with a metallic tang filling her mouth. The apartment fell silent around her, and fog blanketed every window.

When she peered into Raleigh’s room, she expected to see a warm bundle of blankets and blond hair, but the bed was empty, the sheets tumbled onto the floor.

She found Raleigh in the kitchen, curled in on himself like a fern. She ran her hand over his shoulder, up into his hair. He made a small, frustrated noise and leaned into her waist.

“Every time I think it’s done, it happens again. The same stupid dream --” He cut himself off and pushed his hand through his hair. Mako squeezed his shoulder. Raleigh turned his face up to her, already apologizing. She pressed a finger to his mouth.

“I know,” she said. The Drift’s currents tugged at her, in the sleep-dark interior of her skull: Anchorage. Knifehead. Yancy.

In a few days or weeks, it would be her turn to dream of the unknowable quiet, and wake up on the edge of tears with Stacker’s voice rolling in her head. Then she would sit at the table and feel like pale smoke until Raleigh drew her back.

This morning, she held still and smoothed her fingers over his cheek, an anchor against what moved in the Drift.

***

“You _what_?”

Mako shrugged and adjusted the weights on her machine. “I don’t mind what anyone plays in the gym.”

Raleigh shook his head. He looked devastated. “No, before that. You said you didn’t care about music.” His surprise and exasperation spilled toward her in a bright gold wave.

“I don’t, not really.” Mako shook her hair out of her face and sat down on the bench. Raleigh unsnapped a rubber band from around his wrist and held it out to her. “Thanks.” She tied her hair back. “You sounded surprised.”

He nodded and sat next to her. “No music?” He sounded almost hurt, and Mako felt an echo of his disappointment. She knew how much music meant to Raleigh, who couldn’t go for more than five minutes in a car without scanning the radio stations.

“No _preference_ for music,” she corrected gently, and tapped his foot with hers. “Play what you want. Except for house music.”

Raleigh bumped his head to her temple. “No house music,” he agreed. A moment later, he got up to turn on the radio.

“Consider this a crash course in rock ‘n roll,” he yelled over the music as he turned up the volume. “This is Led Zeppelin.”

Mako nearly said I know, because she had heard this song in his head a hundred times over the past few months, but when he started to sing, she just smiled and grabbed the bars over her head.

***

A week later, Raleigh left an iPod next to her plate when he came in for dinner.

“For me?” Mako asked, delighted. She closed the door to the oven. Dinner could wait.

“For you. I put a bunch of stuff on it that I like, but you can delete it if you want.” Raleigh edged around her to the oven and opened the door, inhaling greedily. “You’re making pizza.”

“I am,” she said absently. This iPod model came out five months ago; it had existed longer than she had known Raleigh. The thought made her smile, wistful but warm. She would hear his voice in her head as each song played. 

“Hope you like it,” he said. “Want me to finish dinner?”

“No, I will. Get plates?” What she wanted to say was _I love it, thank you, I love you_ but then she caught his gaze across the kitchen and her grin said everything she needed to.

***

No one wanted to believe the kaiju might return. They wanted to focus on the business of rebuilding, even if it meant doing so among the bones of monsters.

 _The jaeger program is done_ , said the politicians. _Besides, what can two pilots do?_

Mako bit her lip against the sharp reply in her mouth, and straightened her shoulders. Raleigh stood at her side, half-smiling at the faces in the monitor.

 _We aren’t two_ , she wanted to say, knowing they would never understand. Raleigh touched her shoulders, lightly, steadily, and she leaned into his hand. _We are each other. We will be ready._

 


End file.
